


Come For Me

by OfEndlessWonder



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 2x05 gave me so many feelings so i wrote them down, F/F, this is mostly filth whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfEndlessWonder/pseuds/OfEndlessWonder
Summary: ‘Villanelle’s smirk is wicked, and Eve swallows around the lump in her throat. She should be terrified – she’s pinned against her sink by the weight of Villanelle’s body, and there’s a knife digging into her side, but she knows that the rush of adrenaline she feels thrumming through her veins and making her heart pound has everything to do with Villanelle’s close proximity, and not the danger she exudes.’ AKA what my wishful thinking ass wishes happened inbetween the scenes we got in 2x05.





	Come For Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for these two, so hopefully I’ve managed to capture their voices okay. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Careful what you say_

_There’s no turning away_

_I’ll be the worst mistake you ever make_

* * *

 

“Will you give me everything that I want?” Villanelle asks, voice laced with danger, so close to Eve that she can feel the heat of Villanelle’s breath on her lips, and _god_ , that’s such a loaded, impossible question that she knows would be stupid to answer.

“Yes,” she breathes, anyway, even though she’s shaking her head, and she doesn’t know if it’s some small act of defiance, or if it’s just her own brain screaming at her that she’s a goddamn idiot.

Villanelle’s smirk is wicked, and Eve swallows around the lump in her throat. She should be terrified – she’s pinned against her sink by the weight of Villanelle’s body, and there’s a knife digging into her side, but she knows that the rush of adrenaline she feels thrumming through her veins and making her heart pound has everything to do with Villanelle’s close proximity, and not the danger she exudes.

She wonders what the hell she’d been thinking, luring Villanelle here, where they’d be _alone_ , and this time there will be no husband to come home and interrupt them, to prompt the other woman to leave.

She thinks of Niko with a pang of guilt, hates the fact that she’s never reacted like she is now to him, and god, there must be something seriously, seriously wrong with her.

Because Villanelle is a _killer_ , chaotic and destructive, and yet all Eve can think about is how tightly they’re pressed together, Villanelle’s hips flush against hers, the only space between them there because Eve is leaning as far back as she can, because if she moves closer, she’s terrified of what she might do.

Villanelle makes her reckless, invades her brain until her only thoughts are about _her_ , and she’d known that Paris would change things, that slicing a knife into Villanelle’s flesh would ensure she never felt the same again, but she’d thought that it would sever the ties between them, not strengthen them.

Villanelle’s own blade presses harder against her, and she knows that it’s resting in the exact same spot that Eve’s knife had pierced her skin.

She wonders if Villanelle is going to cut her, if they’ll have matching scars emblazoned on their skin for the rest of their lives, hates the quiet gasp that escapes her lips at the thought, as Villanelle leans her weight on the blade just that little bit harder.

“I thought you weren’t scared?” She asks, her eyes dark, dancing between Eve’s eyes and her lips, and Eve’s breathing sounds too loud in her ears.

“I’m not,” she says, but her voice is rough, and Villanelle’s smirk is back.

“Oh no? What are you, then?” Eve clenches her jaw, forces herself not to react as Villanelle leans even closer, her breath hot against Eve’s ear. “Turned on?”

“No,” Eve growls, and she tries to shove Villanelle away, but she pins her in place with ease using the hand settled on Eve’s hip, and it’s ridiculous, really, how much raw strength she hides underneath that lithe frame.

Her touch is electric, burning, burning through the thin material of Eve’s shirt, and Villanelle’s holding her so tightly that she wonders if she’ll have an imprint of her hand in the form of a bruise in the morning.

“You’re not?” Villanelle asks, her voice full of laughter, her eyes bright and _fuck her_ for enjoying this so much. “Then why,” she drags the knife up the path she’d travelled down earlier, up Eve’s stomach and between her breasts and then over her bare skin until the pointed tip is pressed against the side of her neck, “is your heart beating so fast, hm?” Eve clenches her jaw and doesn’t answer, meets Villanelle’s gaze and doesn’t flinch when the knife digs into her skin. “What, are you not talking to me anymore?” Villanelle pouts, exaggerated, and Eve almost rolls her eyes. “That’s very rude, Eve, I thought you were supposed to give everything that I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

She knows, as soon as the words are out of her mouth, that they’re a mistake, just from the way that Villanelle’s eyes light up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and her brain screams curses at her because she’s supposed to be _working_ , supposed to be shepherding Villanelle into the waiting car, _not_ doing whatever it is that Villanelle’s about to –

“You,” Villanelle says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like the last time they were this close together _hadn’t_ ended up with them both trying to kill the other.

Eve wonders if it would have been easier, if Villanelle was as enraged by the stabbing as Eve had imagined her to be, if she’d come to London on a rampage, turned up on Eve’s doorstep like the angel of death (which, Eve supposes, she _is_ kind of dressed for).

It would certainly be easier for Eve to deal with than _this_ , than the heat of Villanelle’s body, the warmth of her touch, the curve of her lips, so tantalisingly close to her own.

“I can’t,” Eve croaks, and her voice doesn’t sound like her own. “I’m married – ”

Villanelle cuts her off with a laugh, and Eve snaps her mouth shut. “Really?” Villanelle asks, and Eve hates the mirth that’s in her eyes. “Because when you came to my apartment you told me… what was it? That you’d lost _everything_ because of me. Including your husband. You mentioned him, specifically.”

“We worked things out.”

“ _Did_ you.” Villanelle is so heavy with scepticism that it isn’t a question. “So, you don’t still think about me all of the time?” There’s a lilt to Villanelle’s voice, and Eve would think it was vulnerability if it didn’t seem so _impossible_.

“I…” She trails off, doesn’t want to answer, and Villanelle prompts her with the hand on her hip, fingers curling deeper into her skin, and Eve would cry out if the pain didn’t feel quite so delicious. “I already told you that I did.”

“No, you said that you think about when you stabbed me all of the time,” Villanelle corrects. “Do you want to feel it? The scar you left me?” Villanelle doesn’t give her time to answer, releases her hold on Eve’s hip so curve over the back of one of her hands, guides Eve to her side, but Eve doesn’t need the guidance, knows exactly where she left her mark.

The sheer material of Villanelle’s dress means that Eve can feel the heat of her skin through it, can feel the taut muscles of her stomach contracting under her touch, and when gets to the scar, the skin feels rough and raised.

Eve wonders if it’s still painful, can’t help but dig her fingers in, just a little, and when Villanelle gasps, the noise harsh in the otherwise quiet room, Eve’s eyes rise from where she’s touching Villanelle and up to her face, sees her dark eyes and parted lips, and wonders how someone so twisted and deadly can be so beautiful.

She drags her nails over the wound again, watches Villanelle’s eyelashes flutter, her control faltering, and Eve wonders what it would be like, to have someone this powerful completely at her mercy, and feels a thrill run through her.

“And what is it that _you_ want, Eve Polastri?” Villanelle takes her wrist and presses it back against the kitchen counter, and Eve realises, when Villanelle leans back in close, that at some point she’d straightened up, and now they’re flush against one another, chest to chest, and the material of Villanelle’s dress against her bare skin feels electric.

“I…” The knife is still at her throat, but Villanelle moves it again, down her neck to trace across her collarbones, and Eve’s breath catches in her throat. “I don’t know.”

It’s not exactly the truth, because she wants Villanelle’s hands on her skin, her hands all over Villanelle, but she knows she’s not ready to deal with the ramifications of that, to look at herself in the mirror and know what she’s done, to look Niko in the eye, and know that he will never be enough for her, not anymore.

She wants Villanelle, but she knows it’s a disaster, that it’s impossible, that things will crash and burn all around her, but with Villanelle so close it’s so hard to remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.

She wants Villanelle, but she doesn’t want to have to say it aloud, because that makes it real in a way that she’s not ready for – what she _really_ wants is for Villanelle to take the decision out of her hands, to take what she so clearly wants without Eve having to admit that she wants it, too.

“I think you do.” Villanelle’s voice is at her ear, and she drops the knife – it clatters onto the kitchen counter, just beside Eve’s hand like it’s an invitation, some sort of test, but Eve doesn’t reach out to take it.

It had taken her days to get rid of Villanelle’s blood from under her nails, and she has no desire to repeat the past.

“I think you want me to touch you.” Both of Villanelle’s hands settle at her hips, fingers curling over the waistband of her pants so that’s touching Eve’s bare skin, and they both gasp at the contact, Eve on fire everywhere that Villanelle’s fingertips brush. “Do you?”

Eve isn’t sure what would happen if she lied and said no – if Villanelle would touch her anyway, or if she’d simply shrug and walk away.

She decides that she doesn’t want to find out, closes her eyes as though somehow that doesn’t make her implicit in what’s happening right now, breathes “yes, please” and _feels_ Villanelle’s smirk of victory against her skin as she presses a single kiss to the side of her neck.

There’s no preamble – there doesn’t need to be, with how long they’ve both waited for this – and there’s a hint of desperation in Villanelle’s touch as she tugs Eve’s pants down just enough to slide a hand inside her underwear, fingers dragging through damp curls before sliding over slick flesh, and the moan Villanelle releases at the feeling is a sound that Eve will be playing on repeat every day for the rest of her life.

“You’re so wet, Eve.” Villanelle’s voice is quiet in her ear, and it takes everything Eve has not to groan when two fingers slide into her, and her touch is rough and her pace is fast and it’s fucking _perfect_. “How long have you been thinking about this? Was this what you were hoping would happen, when you finally got me over here?”

“Stop talking,” Eve says through gritted teeth, like she isn’t enjoying this, like her hips aren’t rocking against Villanelle’s hand, like every time Villanelle’s palm slides over her clit she isn’t seeing stars.

“But I like talking,” Villanelle murmurs, and she sounds completely unaffected by this and Eve hates it, snaps her eyes open and _oh_ that was a mistake because Villanelle’s looking down, watching her hand work between them, pupils blown and her cheeks flushed, and Eve thinks that she’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen. “You feel so good,” Villanelle tells her, fingers pressing deeper, and Eve curls her hands around the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles flashing white. “So much better than I imagined. Do _I_ feel even better than you imagined?”

Eve doesn’t want to answer her, but then Villanelle’s fingers curl in the most delightful way and her thumb circles Eve’s clit and it’s really not fair, how good she is at this, and a “fuck, yes,” leaves her lips without conscious thought.

Eve doesn’t even need to look to know that Villanelle will preen at that, and sure enough, there’s a self-satisfied smirk on her lips that Eve would really like to wipe off with a kiss, but she can still taste bile at the back of her throat and besides, she’s not entirely sure that she’d survive knowing what Villanelle’s lips taste like.

She’s so close, tilts her head back and uses her grip on the counter as leverage to press Villanelle’s fingers even deeper, and her thumb circles faster, and Eve feels that familiar tightening in her stomach, knows that just one more thrust of Villanelle’s fingers will tip her over the edge…

But then Villanelle stops, slips her hand out of Eve’s underwear and rests it at her hip, fingers damp against her skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eve asks, her clit throbbing and her heart racing, so close to coming that it’s almost _painful_ , and Villanelle is just _standing_ there, cheeks still flushed, but a small, amused smile on her lips.

“That was payback for stabbing me,” she says, sweetly, and Eve thinks that maybe she _will_ reach for the knife and this time _actually murder her_. “I’d have let you come if you’d have apologised before.”

“I… What… are you – ” Eve doesn’t even know what she’s _trying_ to say, her brain hazy. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” Villanelle looks entirely too pleased with herself, and Eve thinks that she’d really like to wipe that goddamn smirk off of her face, reaches out and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do – whether she’s going to kiss her or slap her or try and wrestle that monstrosity of a dress off of her – but Villanelle just grips her wrists tightly. “Ah, ah,” she admonishes, “I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.” Eve briefly entertains the idea of trying to free herself but knows it’s a battle she wouldn’t win. “Now, wasn’t there a point to you bringing me here? Unless you needing my help was all a ruse to get me to fuck you, in which case – ”

“It wasn’t a _ruse_ ,” Eve hisses, and Villanelle is laughing and Eve hates the sound of it.

“I know, I saw the car waiting when I got here – considering you’re supposed to be a spy, your agency isn’t very subtle.” Eve just blinks at her, wonders how this situation managed to spin so wildly out of her control. “So, shall we go?”

Eve is tempted to say no, to call the whole goddamned thing off, but Villanelle is here and they may as well use her, so she grumbles as she yanks her pants back on and grabs a coat. “You’re such a little _shit_ ,” she mutters as they head towards the door, Villanelle’s laughter ringing in her ears.

//

The car ride is… awkward.

Eve can’t help but steal glances at Villanelle every so often, and more often than not Villanelle is staring back at her with those dark, dark eyes.

Her lips curve whenever she catches Eve looking her way, and Eve remembers the feeling of Villanelle’s fingers inside of her and hates that she’s still aching, that she still _wants_ her, that if Villanelle were to reach out and pull her close, Eve would be powerless to do anything but let her.

It feels like a weakness, but she still craves it, and the space that separates them is only inches but it feels like miles, Villanelle’s mask back on and her walls up high, guarded like she had been when she’d first entered Eve’s house.

She doesn’t know how to break her walls back down, doesn’t dare try when there’s a silent driver in the front seat, and she’s just glad that Villanelle hasn’t brought up what they’d just been doing, hopes she’s not waiting for the perfect opportunity to drop it casually into conversation and give Eve a heart attack.

It seems like something she’d do.

Eve thinks that she should hate her – she hadn’t lied, in Paris, because she _does_ feel like Villanelle has taken so much from her, has consumed her whole, invaded her mind and her heart until she could never feel the same again.

She doesn’t hate her though, doesn’t miss the way her life had used to be, her boring desk job (she thinks of Bill with a pang in her chest, because oh, she misses him every single day) and her mundane schedule.

She’s felt more alive, these past few months, than she ever has before, and she knows that it’s all because of the woman sitting so stoically beside her.

Eve knows that the journey is long, tries to relax back against the seat but she’s tense, because Villanelle is so close, can’t help but watch her as she stares out of the window.

She’s beautiful, and Eve finds herself wanting to reach out, to run her hand across the soft curve of her cheek, to feel her skin beneath her fingertips like she had earlier that night, the one touch that she’s allowed herself that hadn’t been offered.

Villanelle’s eyes are firmly fixed outside, on the countryside that flashes by, and Eve thinks that if Villanelle is going to ignore her, then she can do the same.

It’s late, late enough that the sun is beginning to rise, and Eve hasn’t slept, is exhausted from the wait for Villanelle to arrive, and the tension that her presence never fails to bring.

So she rests her head back and closes her eyes, and figures that if Villanelle isn’t interested in talking, she may as well get some rest.

It’s less than five minutes before she hears the rustling.

She cracks one eye open, turns to see what the hell Villanelle is doing, and nearly has a heart attack when she sees that she’s gathering the material of her dress at her waist to leave her legs bare, and then one of her hands is disappearing under the skirt of her dress and then her lips part in a quiet sigh and _oh._

She is _definitely_ touching herself under there, if the movements of her arm is any indication, and she’s angled away from Eve so she can’t see anything but she can see her moving and she can watch the ecstasy that flashes across her face and Eve is definitely not going to survive this journey.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hisses, because there is _someone else in the car_ , but Villanelle doesn’t seem to care about that, just lifts her shoulders in a delicate little shrug.

“Relieving a little tension.” Her voice is breathy, and Eve wonders how much self control it’s taking her, to be quiet – wonders whether she’s loud in bed, what her moans would sound like echoing through the car. “You got me all worked up earlier.”

Eve shoots a scandalised look towards the front of the car, but the driver seems to be completely unaffected. He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead (she wonders if Carolyn had told him what cargo he transported, if he knew there was an assassin in his backseat, and had been urged to act accordingly), and she’s relieved to see tiny wireless headphones in his ears.

“Relax,” Villanelle tells her with a roll of her eyes, like Eve could ever be _relaxed_ when she’s watching Villanelle touch herself, when she can _hear_ the sound of her fingers sliding across slick flesh. “He can’t hear a thing, can you, idiot?” She raises her voice for that last part, the sound of it harsh, bouncing around the car, but the driver doesn’t turn around. “See?”

It doesn’t make Eve feel any better, because he still has _eyes_ , and even though Villanelle’s dress is mostly covering her hand, what she’s doing is unmistakable.

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks, like any of this in Eve’s control (it was _supposed_ to be, but that flew out of the window almost as soon as Villanelle stepped into her home).

“If I said yes, would you?”

“Maybe.” Vilanelle’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and Eve wants to ask her to, just to see if she’d obey, but she can’t quite find the words, because she wants to know what Villanelle looks like when she comes.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, instead, and she wonders when she’d become this, when she’d given in to that dark thing hiding within her, to that desire that Villanelle brought out in her.

She thinks that maybe the floodgates had opened, when Villanelle had touched her earlier, and now there’s no putting back the rush of emotion that it had set free, no matter how hard she tries.

“You,” Villanelle tells her, and her head is lolling back against the window, her cheeks pink, her eyes locked on Eve’s, so dark that they look black in the muted darkness that surrounds them. “Always you. And now that I know what you feel like…” Villanelle trails off with a sigh, and it shouldn’t turn her on, to know that Villanelle’s touching herself with the same fingers that had been inside of Eve just an hour ago, but god, it does. “You can join me, you know,” she offers, as though it’s a favour, “you must be awfully frustrated, after earlier.”

“And whose fault is that?” Eve glowers, and Villanelle grins.

“I told you, it was your own. You should have apologised to me.”

“Yeah? And what’s this,” Eve waves a hand towards her, “punishment for?”

“You think this is a punishment?” Villanelle asks, the movements of her hand slowing slightly. “Is it torture, to sit there and _not_ touch me?” Eve clenches her jaw because there’s no way she’ll say it aloud but she knows that Villanelle already knows the answer to her own damn question anyway. “This,” she says, fingers pressing deep, voice husky, “is for not coming to see me in Amsterdam.”

“I wasn’t allowed to go!”

“You could have come anyway,” Villanelle says, like Eve doesn’t have a job and a _boss_ that thinks she’s far too close to this, to her (and god, she _knows_ that she is, because what sane person would have let Villanelle fuck them against their kitchen counter?). “I was very hurt, you know.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” But Villanelle looks wounded, and Eve wonders if maybe she was, if that’s why she’d been so guarded earlier, because she thought that Eve was losing interest in her.

That ship has sailed now, because Eve’s eyes are fixed on Villanelle’s wrist as she works her fingers between her thighs, and there’s no way she can pretend that she isn’t interested in this, doesn’t wish it was her own fingers curling deep inside of her.

“I was.” Villanelle’s breathing is laboured, now, and Eve knows she must be close. “I thought you’d replaced me.”

“No one could ever replace you,” Eve murmurs, and she knows that the words are true, deep down in her bones.

Villanelle’s lips curve into a satisfied smile, and then they part in a silent gasp of Eve’s name, and Eve knows that she’s coming, her eyes never leaving Eve’s face and fuck, she needs a cold shower, feels a twisting in her gut, a throb of desire shooting straight between her thighs.

She’s relieved when, what feels like just a few short moments later, as Villanelle is smoothing her dress back over her legs, the driver calls out that they’re nearly there, and Eve is startled when she looks out of the window to find that they’ve left the countryside behind for the woods, trees bracketing the road on both sides.

She’s relieved because she’d been seconds away from doing something really fucking stupid, like leaning over the space diving them and kissing Villanelle senseless, or sliding her own hand under that damned dress, or sliding Villanelle’s wet fingers between her lips to see what she’d taste like on her tongue.

She practically scrambles out of the car, feels the cool morning air on her burning cheeks and reminds herself that she’s supposed to be _working_ , not thinking about fucking Villanelle, takes several long, deep breaths and tries to clear her head.

Villanelle looks perfectly put-together as she steps out of the car, and that self-satisfied smirk is back, and Eve doesn’t know whether she wants to wipe it away with a kiss or her fist.

//

She’s purposefully cool and aloof with Villanelle in those woods, both before and after she comes out of that container.

She wants a thank you, but Eve feels sick at the thought of what she’d allowed to happen, knows that, whatever torture Villanelle just inflicted on the Ghost, she did it because of her, because Eve had asked her to be here.

She wonders if she’s gone too far, if she’s crossed over the line (if she’ll ever get back to the other side), wonders when this had become a good idea, hiring Villanelle to do her dirty work for her.

Has she always had this darkness in her, festering beneath the surface? Or had Villanelle just brought it out of her?

She doesn’t know which is worse.

Villanelle is wounded by her standoffishness, she can tell, but it doesn’t stop her from being purposefully cruel, even though the look in Villanelle’s eyes haunts her a she steps inside of the shipping container to see what damage had been done.

She just… she’s desperate to put some distance between them, to remind herself that Villanelle is a _murderer_ , that Eve should absolutely, under no circumstances, want her in the way that she so painfully does, and if being a dick is going to help that and keep Villanelle at arm’s length, then she’ll do it.

The Ghost sees her and says ‘monster’, and Eve doesn’t know if she means her or Villanelle, but then she decides that it doesn’t even matter, because it’s true either way.

When she goes back outside she still feels sick, and then her stomach drops when she sees that Villanelle is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” She asks one of the guards, and he glances inside the container like Eve’s an idiot, and she rolls her eyes. “Obviously not her.”

“She went that way.” He gestures vaguely at the trees behind her, and Eve groans, because she can’t have lost Villanelle again.

She tells herself that she can’t have gone far – Eve is supposed to be her ride back to civilisation, after all – and is probably just pouting somewhere in the woods, heads in the general direction of the guard’s waving hand and hopes that she doesn’t get lost.

She doesn’t have to spend long looking – she soon spies a flash of black in the distance, and at least Villanelle’s ostentatious outfit has some purpose other than her being dramatic about what she thought was Eve’s imminent death.

She’s leaning back against a tree, her head tilted back to look up at the sky, and she doesn’t react when Eve makes her way towards her. “What are you doing?” She asks, when she reaches her.

“Thinking.” Villanelle doesn’t look at her when she answers, eyes still focused above.

“About?” Eve prompts, and Villanelle sighs.

“Why did you ask me here, Eve?” She turns to Eve, then, and she’s frowning down at her like she can’t quite figure her out. “I did exactly what you asked, got the information you were after. I didn’t even kill her, and yet you’re still unhappy, and I don’t _understand_. What did you want me to do differently?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know,” she breathes, and god, if that ain’t the truth. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know what she wants – all that she knows is she can’t stand Villanelle looking at her like she’s a wounded puppy. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I should have said thank you. I’m just not… I’m not used to this. Torturing people.”

“Just stabbing them?”

“I’m not exactly used to that, either.”

“No? Am I still your one and only?” Villanelle’s frown is gone, now, and there’s a teasing lilt to her voice and okay, coming out here to find her, being alone with her _again_ , probably wasn’t her smartest move.

But then, when had she ever been able to make smart decisions when it came to Villanelle?

“You know that’s not a good thing, right?” Eve asks, because the way Villanelle says it, it sounds like she thinks it is.

“Depends on how you look at it.” Eve really doesn’t understand how stabbing someone can be seen as anything other than a _terrible_ thing, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand how Villanelle’s brain works, either, so she supposes she’ll let it go for now. “Just don’t try it again.”

“I won’t.” Villanelle looks like she doesn’t believe her, but Eve means it – she doesn’t want Villanelle’s blood on her hands, hot and sticky, ever again. “We should probably get back to the car.”

“Or we could stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll be different, once this over, once you don’t need me anynore.” Villlanelle’s voice is quiet, her eyes locked on Eve’s, and Eve thinks it would be all too easy to get lost in them, to let herself drown, never come up for air again. “Will you go back to hunting me?”

“I don’t know.” She doesn’t exactly have a plan, and if someone had told her just a week ago that she and Villanelle would be working together, she’d have laughed in their face.

“Let’s not go back, then. We could run away, together.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

Because I wouldn’t survive it, is what she wants to say. Because I’d lose myself, and I’m terrified of who I’ll become.

“I have a life here. A job, a husband – ”

“Oh, please,” Villanelle scoffs, and then she’s pushing herself off the tree and towering over Eve, and Eve scrambles backwards but Villanelle keeps on coming, doesn’t stop until Eve’s back is against a different tree, Villanelle trapping her against it, her arms bracketing Eve’s head, but she’s careful not to touch her, a few inches of space separating their bodies. “Enough of that charade.” She’s angry, her eyes filled with molten fire and her voice rough with it, lips twisted into a sneer. “Stop using him an excuse –if you’re so happy with your life and your _husband_ ,” she spits that with such vitriol that Eve flinches, and sometimes it’s hard to remember who Villanelle is, all of the things that she’s done, because around Eve she can be so soft, but she’s anything but now. “Then why the hell did you just let me fuck you in the house that you share with him, hm?”

“Because you forced – ”

“No,” Villanelle cuts her off, shakes her head, leans so close that Eve can feel her breath on her lips, and her heart is beating a million miles a minute and this _cannot_ be happening again. “I didn’t force you to do anything – you wanted me to touch you. You were so wet for me, Eve – are you still?”

Eve knows that there’s a way out of this that _doesn’t_ involve Villanelle fucking her against a tree.

She could tell her no, and she knows that she’d stop, that they’d go back to the car and then go their separate ways.

But Villanelle is _right there_ and Eve doesn’t know when she will be again, and she’s already so far gone that she thinks what the fuck, a little more won’t hurt, because she’s well past the point of no return when it comes to Villanelle.

So she reaches out a shaking hand, runs her fingers across Villanelle’s cheek like she’d wanted to in the car, before she curls them around the back of her neck. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” She asks, her voice low, before she’s tugging Villanelle close and pressing their lips together.

It takes Villanelle a moment to respond – at first she seems to be frozen in shock – but she recovers quickly, lips sliding against Eve’s, body pressing close so that all Eve can feel is the heat of her, and then Villanelle’s tongue is licking into her mouth and _oh_ , Eve aches to feel it elsewhere.

“We have to be quick,” she breathes, when their lips part, because they are in the _woods_ and she’s pretty sure people will come looking for them and she absolutely does _not_ want to be found with Villanelle’s hands down her pants.

(And not just because she might combust if she doesn’t get to come this time).

“As long as I get to take my time with you some other time,” Villanelle murmurs, mouth pressed against the side of Eve’s neck.

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” Eve knows that it’s wrong but _god_ Villanelle feels so right, her teeth nipping at Eve’s neck and making her groan, and then her hands are sliding under her thighs and she lifts her effortlessly, Eve’s legs wrapping around Villanelle’s waist as she pins her against the tree with her hips, and such a display of raw power is hotter than it has any right to be.

Villanelle’s mouth traces across every inch of Eve’s skin that’s accessible, driving her wild with lips and teeth and tongue, and when Villanelle slides a hand beneath her underwear, she nearly sobs in relief.

The angle is tight, but Villanelle makes it work, slides two fingers into Eve, presses them deeper with her hips, and she feels so fucking perfect that Eve could cry.

The bark of the tree is rough at her back, and she’s glad she’s still wearing her coat because if she wasn’t she thinks she’d be covered in scratches that would be so hard to explain.

Villanelle’s fingers are curling inside of her and her thumb is circling Eve’s clit, her mouth working at the sensitive spot at the base of her neck, and Villanelle’s other hand is snaking underneath her shirt until it’s on her tits, fingers tugging at her nipple and making her curse.

“Don’t you dare stop this time,” Eve breathes, her hands twisting through Villanelle’s hair.

“What would you do if I did?” She asks, lips trailing up the side of Eve’s neck and kissing just underneath her jaw.

“Kill you,” she says, and Villanelle chuckles, low and dirty, right into her ear. She uses her grip on Villanelle’s hair to guide her mouth back to Eve’s, sighs when Villanelle kisses her, open-mouthed and greedy, like she’ll never get enough.

Villanelle doesn’t stop, this time, and Eve comes hard against Villanelle’s hand, legs shaking as Villanelle kisses her through the aftershocks.

“Fuck,” is all Eve can think to say when she manages to catch her breath, and Villanelle looks up at her with hungry eyes that say she could do that over and over again.

(Eve wants to do that over and over again, too, and if she wasn’t too far gone before, she sure as hell is now, and she wonders if she should be ashamed of herself, for letting this happen, but instead all she can feel is desire, wants to get her hands on Villanelle, and god, there’s something seriously fucking wrong with her, and she doesn’t even know if she _cares_ anymore).

“Fuck,” she says again, when she watches Villanelle slip the fingers that had just been inside of Eve into her mouth, and when she drags Villanelle into another kiss, she can taste herself on the other woman’s lips.

She’s about to see if she can wrestle Villanelle out of her dress when she hears a voice call out through the trees.

“Eve?” It’s unmistakably Carolyn, and Eve swears, swats at Villanelle until she drops her back to the ground, and frantically tries to put herself together, because god help her if Carolyn finds the two of them like this.

(“No… feelings?” Carolyn had asked, what felt like an age ago, and Eve wants to laugh at how much of a lie her answer had been, because look at her now).

“Will you _help me_ instead of just standing there?” Eve hisses at Villanelle, who is watching her panic with a wide smile on her face, enjoying this far too much.

Villanelle sighs like it’s a chore, but she does fish several leaves out of Eve’s unruly hair that she never would have found on her own, and once Eve feels like they’re both presentable, she tugs at Villanelle’s wrist.

“Come on.” She marches them back towards the shipping container, and by now the guards and (presumably) the Ghost are gone, but Carolyn and Konstantin stand waiting for them, and Eve wonders if they’ve been following them the whole night.

“Oh, good,” Carolyn says when Eve and Villanelle emerge through the trees. “We were worried you’d tried to murder one another again. It would be awfully inconvenient, carting a dead body through all of these trees.”

“No murder here,” Eve replies, her voice much too cheerful, and she curses at herself, because she should be trying to act _normal_.

“Hm.” Carolyn looks between Eve and Villanelle before her gaze rests on Eve, scrutinising her closely, and she tries not to squirm under the weight of her gaze. “Did she give you what you needed?”

“What?” Eve squeaks, and Carolyn looks at her like she’s grown a second head.

“The Ghost, Eve,” Carolyn sounds exasperated. Villanelle is snickering beside Eve, enjoying this far too much.

“Eve got _everything_ that she wanted,” Villanelle says, her voice practically dripping with innuendo, and Eve turns to glare at her. “It was the son who hired her.”

“Interesting,” Carolyn says, but she doesn’t sound it, is too busy narrowing her eyes at Eve. “Well, we should probably get going then, shouldn’t we? The car that brought you two here can take you and I to the office, Eve. Konstantin has kindly agreed to take Villanelle back to the city.”

Being trapped in a car with Carolyn after this whole situation isn’t something that Eve is particularly looking forward to, but she can’t argue with her boss, tries not to look disappointed at having to say goodbye to Villanelle.

“Until next time, Eve Polastri,” Villanelle says, shooting Eve a wink when no-one else is looking, before she and Konstantin disappear from view.

Eve doesn’t know when next time will be, but she can already feel a spark of anticipation in her chest, at the opportunities it might bring.


End file.
